


Iscariot

by Chummy



Category: Persona 5
Genre: ATLUS LEMME GIVE HIM A KISS FUCK, Catholic Guilt, Catholic Imagery, I have 12 years of bible school pent up and im going to hell anyways, Judas fic, M/M, they make out and Akechi has an internal struggle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 10:37:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19990774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chummy/pseuds/Chummy
Summary: He was placing a crown of thorns on Akira’s head and simultaneously laying out all his sins at his feet to be cleansed.





	Iscariot

**Author's Note:**

> The Judas fic no one asked for but :)

What was free will when put against fate? God has a plan set out for everyone, so they say, begging the question is our will truly free. Or is every one of our choices predestined and unchangeable? Some argue no, some argue against God’s completely, others find a middle ground. That God has a plan for you, but you choose whether or not to do it. Akechi thinks this is a cop out, a viewpoint that brings comfort to those who idolize a God of their own creation, not the true ones. The cruel ones. Still, he wonders sprawled beneath Akira Kurusu, hair a mess on _His_ sheets, surrounded by _His_ scent, _His_ touch, _Him_. If this is his middle ground. 

He had, no _has_ , a plan. A plan still very in effect no matter how many _distractions_ have manifested along the way. One being how Akira’s hand feels unbuttoning his shirt. A plan that ends with a bullet staining Akira’s pretty face a daunting red. 

Said face was painted a splotchy pink, with undignified breaths panted against Akechi’s lips, soft, blessing. He resembled the cherubs on high ceilings of churches with too much money and pride. 

Oh how ironic, Akechi thought. 

Akechi’s own constructed image was one of innocence and lawfulness. He was no fool, he knew his honey hair, deep brown eyes and plush lips attracted people. One well timed wink could manipulate hearts all over TV sets.

Akira would much easier fit the part of a demon, all dark hair, high cheekbones and tantalizing smirks. But there was nothing evil about Akira. The only thing sacrilegious on him was Akechi’s own hands.

A part of him wanted to defile his _oh so good_ heart, to claw at him and bring him down to the clutches of hell Akechi resides in. He settled for sinking his teeth into Akira’s chest, reveling in the gasp and arch into his mouth that he received. 

Akira kissed down the column of his neck, lavishing him in sweet caresses. Kisses too tender, too close to something Akechi can never truly have. Saliva mixing with the sweat on his skin, anointing him in pleasure and grace he has no right too.

His slim fingers finding Akechi’s and holding, gently, as if to make sure he wasn’t going to leave, as if he was making a promise. They held hands as Akira whispered dirty prayers against his ear. 

Akira’s filthy sermon in his ears and his overwhelmingly warm body on top of him arching and grinding into his was bliss. Mind whited out except for Akira, Akira, Akira, chanted in between breaths and moans. A bliss, he longed was eternal. 

Moments like these felt like miracles. Too long and somehow so short. Made him feel like he was enveloped in royal blues and garnished in gold, a true prince, worthy of his King’s presence at his altar. Brief moments that made it so easy to understand why people loved Akira, why they trusted him, bared their all to him. 

Every time he realized he was starting to do that too, he clawed a little harder at Akira’s skin.

He didn't want to want, to _need_ it. And yet, his confession would worm its way from his ribs to behind his teeth everytime Akira would smile at him because, god, those smiles felt like salvation. 

He didn’t want to believe in that. Didn’t want to become another blinded disciple. He was disgusted by the faith they all put into Akira, into their false sense of righteousness and justice, into their _Leader_. 

The word tasted like poisoned wine on his tongue. His salvation didn’t, couldn't, lay in Akira. 

Despite all his disbelief, he couldn’t make himself believe that either. 

There was no salvation for him. 

But he knew this was as close as he would get. His saving grace came in the glances full of care and laughs behind counters that were _real_. Everytime he laughed it solidified that deep down he’d wash Akira’s feet with his hands, would lay down on his knees and pray, would promise him his tarnished soul if Akira asked. 

He never did ask. 

Akechi still found himself on his knees for him. Worshipping him until his lungs burned and every last bit of Akira was slipping down his throat. 

He was set to kill him, and there he was, multiple times a week, laying whispered praises on his skin. 

A traitor through and through.

He lost where his lies ended and truth began.

He was placing a crown of thorns on Akira’s head and simultaneously laying out all his sins at his feet to be cleansed. 

Akechi derailed the thoughts forcefully, with a fistful of dark locks he pulled Akira up mercilessly. Akira’s breath caught and let a sweet moan pour out of him at the pain. 

“Masochist.” Akechi all but spit at him, fixated on the goosebumps raising in Akira’s skin. 

He wondered if Akira would moan at all the knives Akechi had buried in his back in the past months. And how many times he’d betray him again by sunrise. 

“Sadist.” Akira returned with a sly smile through broken breaths. Akechi smiled, he couldn’t argue with that. 

Akira always ended up bruised and cut on his bed, catching his breath, satisfied gleam in his eye as if he had taken a beating for the greater good. 

He wondered if Akira would die for him. Would he give his soul for him? Would he tear through hell for him? 

Did he want him too? 

Akechi pressed on an already present bruise on Akira’s ribs at the thought. Akira’s breath catching on his lips. He doesn’t want saving. There is no saving him. 

He felt a noose tightening against his throat and he wondered when, when, when would he hang. Akira dragged his pretty fingers his neck, tracing marks that he felt blooming, proudly, kindly as if his touch was a blessing on his skin. 

Bitterly, he knew it was. 

Akechi ran his fingers through the unruly halo of curls he seems to always dream of and kissed him again and again and again. Akira kisses him back, again and again and again. Only breaking apart when hips grew incessant against each other, whines and pleads tearing through his throat that Akira answered with encouragement and a blessed hand curling around him. 

The moan that tore through him was very unbecoming of him but Akira’s hand was too hot, too slick, too much. His sense of shame was nowhere to be found as he thrusted into Akira’s wet palm. He smirked through the pleasure filled haze as he felt Akira grind against his leg, moving one of his hands from Akira’s hair to unceremoniously shove into Akira’s pants. Smiling at the way Akira closed his eyes and sighed. He dragged his fist firmly up and down, glowing with pride at the reactions he got. 

Only he got to see this. To do this to Akira, bring their charismatic savior to lust and stuttered gasps.

He came crying out Akira’s name, seeing white and blood boiling. Barely registering his own name falling from Akira’s lips, landing on his flushed neck. 

He was drowsy, in the afterglow, like always. Curling closer to Akira’s side, allowing the hand that came around his waist to pull them closer. They breathed together, in that bed, in that attic, was the closest he would get to heaven and Akechi was trespassing on holy ground. 

His life, to that point, had been hellish. Surrounded and tainted by darkness that he couldn’t escape. His justice came with a price he was very willing to pay, after all he’d lived through hell and back. 

He slept the night away, enveloped in arms that trusted him, Akechi sealed their time with a kiss in the morning, slinking out of Akira’s arms like a snake. Ignoring the cold dread that settled in his bones the farther away from Leblanc he got. 

And continued to ignore it as the days passed by. His sins growing on his shoulders and noose tightening around his throat. He continued. Ignoring every fiber of his being that wanted to beg for forgiveness everytime Akira individually kissed the fingers of his hands to his knuckles, methodical as worship, with a smile. Everytime he tucked a stray piece of hair behind Akechi’s ear, letting his touch linger and heat him up. Everytime he pulled gasps and moans from his lips. He ignored it. 

He had a job to do. Hell to pay. Thirty silver coins paling to a life. 

Akechi realized, far too late. His eternal hell would be the betrayal flash in Akira’s eyes as a gunshot rung out. 

With each step away from the interrogation room the floor opened beneath his feet, he hanged. 

**Author's Note:**

> OoOooOo Im in love with Judasss Judas. Thx hope you enjoyed.


End file.
